


my past has tasted bitter for years now (so i wield an iron fist)

by kuchikopi, tonberrys



Series: renascentia: between the lines [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Death Eaters - Freeform, Baby Order Members, Black family feels, Death Eaters, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Marauders' Era, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, POV Regulus Black, POV Sirius Black, POV Third Person, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchikopi/pseuds/kuchikopi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonberrys/pseuds/tonberrys
Summary: The past is not easy to leave behind, particularly if it's chasing you.Or, Regulus the Death Eater meets Sirius the Order member.





	my past has tasted bitter for years now (so i wield an iron fist)

The Dark Mark burned hot, like a fiery salamander writhing beneath his skin, its inky outline stark against the paleness of his arm.

The Dark Lord called, and His Death Eaters came in droves.

Some six months had passed since Regulus had earned the Mark, taking his proud place amongst the adults, despite his youth. He had even occasioned some meetings as early as a year and a half before, alongside his cousin Bellatrix, when first he pledged himself to the Dark Lord's service -- for that, he had been particularly privileged, unlike some of his peers with less illustrious connections. Drunk on thrill of secrecy, of idealism and community and exalted exceptionalism, he basked in the warm light of approval, of late nights studying the dark arts with Bella and the way she finally looked _at_ him, rather than _through_ him, mild-mannered as he'd always been -- as if seeing a strength in him she had not seen in his childhood.

He was not the same 14-year-old boy whose heart had burned to ash at the insult of his brother's departure. He was 17 now, stronger, a proper _adult_ , and he was going to take care of this family, by whatever means necessary.

With a telltale _pop_ , Regulus opened his eyes to a dark spread of snow-dusted trees, jagged shadows cutting across the light peppering of snow still falling heavily around him.

Just ahead was the abandoned building that would house that night’s Death Eater meeting. His arrival was cutting it close, but he could already see the structure’s dark silhouette and knew that if he kept up his pace, he would even have a few minutes to spare. His school holiday had scarcely begun -- the Hogwarts Express had arrived back in London just two days prior -- but there was no rest in this war, and even if his classmates were relaxing at home, he knew such a luxury was out of reach in the current climate. _He_ had a responsibility, whether or not hunting down a solid game of wizarding chess sounded more appealing than kicking through the snow.

It was an honour, after all.

As he reached his destination, Regulus slipped inside to join his comrades, the creek of the wooden door punctuating his silent movements. A few of the shadowy forms turned to look, but most did not. Every Death Eater came masked and was strictly instructed to remain as such, but he easily found his place in the circle, energy buzzing inside him as they waited for the meeting to start. (His first since summer, and much had happened while he was away. As one of the few teenagers amongst adults, there was a seemingly ever-present need to catch up.) Around the room, several members held their wanna out, lighting the room with dim embers and _Lumos_ spells.

Glancing to the side, he saw a familiar line of masks, and with a quick look around to make certain there was no immediate sign of starting, he backed from the circle and slipped in next to them.

“Made it just in time, King,” the nearest one said, clapping him on the shoulder. Evan, from the look of his mask. Though it wasn't visible beneath his own, a smile tugged on the corner of Regulus’s mouth.

“White Knight, Rook,” he responded in hushed tones, leaning to look at Avery on the other side of him. The thrill of their self-designated nicknames had yet to wear off, chosen when they had earned their respective Marks that summer, just six months prior -- aliases for when they were in garb, in response to the reaming they'd received for speaking names aloud when the masks were on, back before they'd been elevated to full ‘chosen’ status. They had been amongst their own, but as it was, they were well warned by his cousin not to trust even that.

“Have you seen the others?” Regulus asked, settling back into the circle.

“I'm sure they're here somewhere,” Evan said, glancing around the large, dimly lit room. “There's no way they would miss it.”

Suddenly a silencing rustle moved along the circling line of Death Eaters as they stilled, something like an otherworldly chill creeping over their skin. Regulus bit lightly on his bottom lip, twisted his sleeves tightly around his thumb, and suddenly, it seemed inappropriate to speak, even discreetly.

Soon, the meeting would begin.

 

* * *

 

 

“You're not listening."

Sirius grinned, cupping his wand around the rollie and trying to warm himself up at the same time. A week before Christmas and Death Eaters were still in full swing. Apparently they didn’t observe the holidays. "Do I ever?"  

Remus hadn't sounded at all accusatory. He'd sounded like he did right before James and him would manage to talk him out of his prefectly duties enough to do something wild with them when they were back at school.

But they weren't in school anymore.

They were members of the Order of the Phoenix and had been for half a year now. Not that you would know it. They'd had more run in's with Death Eaters when they were just running into them the year before, dog fighting in alleys or winding people up. The older contingent definitely coddled them too much; they knew how to fight and they weren't afraid. The idea of them actually getting to go out there and do something had introduced an air of excitement over the impromptu meeting.

"Intelligence like this is rare and we have limited time to act." Alice Longbottom was addressing them like Dumbledore at the beginning of a school feast. "You go in, you try to get what they're working on but if you run into problems, you will apparate out. It is not worth your lives."

They passed around apparition coordinates. In the other corner, he could see Evans and McKinnon chattering excitedly while James came over to join them.

"Get in and get out. You don't want to be caught there when the Aurors show up." Alice followed up. There was a loud throat clearing which came from the general direction of her husband. "The _other_ Aurors!" She added, exasperated as a murmured giggle went out among the crowd. “Go!”

They had their coordinates. There was no point in waiting around.

Sirius flashed James a quick grin; their competitive spirit launching into full swing before they apparated out.  He was running as soon as his feet hit snow, which they did with enough force that he felt unsure on his feet for a minute as people moved to go crashing in. He was already behind. James was never going to let him forget it if managed something  more impressive. He couldn’t think of anything worse.  

 

* * *

 

Regulus heard them before he saw them -- a burst of thumping feet and spells whizzing past, setting the tensely still room into an immediate flurry.

 _Aurors,_ sparked his immediate thought, and with his wand suddenly in hand, Regulus wasted no time bolting for the front wall, dodging stray shots and scanning the exits as Evan and Avery split off in another direction. Someone was blocking the front door, but Regulus didn't linger to identify the person before ducking into an empty room, heart thundering in his chest. Weaving around a few dusty wooden tables, he reached a window, and after unceremoniously yanking it open, the teenager climbed out and shut it behind with a solid and slightly shaky thunk.

He could spot one of their unmasked assailants getting knocked backward through the front entrance, effectively trampled by a couple of retreating Death Eaters. If one thing was becoming rapidly clear with a scan of the bottlenecking fray, it was that their uninvited guests were not with law enforcement, but there was no time to sit back and watch it unfold. Whether they had been betrayed or followed, Regulus didn't know, but it was clear that the meeting was off for tonight.

(Somehow, that was not enough to calm the nerves bundling in his chest.)

Just before turning to bolt back toward the trees, Regulus's attention was suddenly snagged by the sight of his brother on the other side of the window. Surprise held him fast, and though a fight was erupting out into the snowy night, he was frozen in place. A certain vulnerability struck, and he felt exposed despite the shroud of his mask and low-drooping hood.

His brother, crashing a Death Eater meeting. Somehow, Regulus's doubted that Sirius was here to join the party. The vigilantes grew bolder and bolder, and though part of him had suspected his brother would find himself mixing with the rebellious and (ironically) disorderly side of the war, for that stretch of a second, he'd forgotten how to breathe.

In an instant, Sirius was barreling toward the window, and Regulus turned on his heels to bolt away from the building, heart pounding fiercely in his ears as his feet pumped against the snow. He had to shake the pursuit, find cover, get home before the evening spiraled further out of control. If only he could get somewhere safe enough to apparate-

Behind him, a spell shot past Sirius, who moved to get out of the way, cursing and wand ready. Zig-zagging the debris as best he could, he sent a leg locker curse that was likely still too far away.

As the curse struck the snow behind Regulus, he knew that there were two choices, and he had no time to waste hesitating. (Run, fight, run, fight.) Whether or not he wanted to duel, the older boy's legs were longer, and the chances of Sirius catching up were not in Regulus's favour. If Sirius _did_ catch up to a retreat, he would have the undeniable advantage of attacking from behind, and to risk that advantage was just going to trap him in a fight with the immediate handicap of whatever attack was chosen.

Sirius might be the more accomplished dueler of the two, but the past year had honed Regulus's own skills too, and he couldn't allow himself to get pinned down like that. This fight needed to be taken head on.

Shifting his weight a little to counter his stop, Regulus attempted to make a swift turn around; the clean stop turned into more of a skidding slip as his feet lost traction on the snow, but as one startled hand broke his fall, the other flung out his wand with a hastily aimed _Petrifucus Totalus_ , fighting the adrenaline as he kept his voice as low as possible. It was difficult with his heart hammering like that, but voices were their only identifying feature while in Death Eater garb, and this was not a person he wanted to identify himself to.

 

* * *

 

 

Suddenly snowball fights and James’ insane insistence of practicing Quidditch in all weather forms seemed less like wasted amusement and more like training. At least Sirius managed to stay on his feet, with a little luck and a little experience. It would be bad enough to go sliding into oblivion because he was inept, but even _worse_ if he got killed by some half-trained amateur.

However, as he came to a stop, he hesitated for a moment as the light of the wand lit up the dim night. The chances of it being a pleasant curse were none to not a chance in hell, so he took the dive. So much for staying on his feet, but he rolled to one side onto his knees. The cloth seemed to have better traction than his shoes anyway.

He couldn’t keep himself from twisting into a smile as the games began. He knew what he was supposed to do. There were really only a few rules when dealing with a Death Eater. If you’re going to puke, do it over them, which was a lesson learned from his first time in the field. Go for the wand and the arms, as the mouths were protected by ghoulish masks and there was always a chance of wordless magic. When unable to do these, get the mask: they were very private about their identities and knowing always seemed to be half the battle.

Since he didn’t feel sick, he went for the wand. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” He hissed back, deciding that wobbly legs were not actually an advantage and he was feeling more steady where he was.

With only a fast-fleeting second to react, the Death Eater pushed himself into a roll with his planted hand, and once anchored, shot a blasting curse, staring straight at Sirius with the blank face of his mask.

“ _Protego!_ ” Sirius threw up at the last moment, being damn sure he was not about to end up in several roasted pieces in the snow. He had to bite back a laugh, not wanting to draw enough attention just in case Death Eaters suddenly developed some sense of loyalty and came to come and help their fallen companion. He could feel his heart rate speed up and pushed his wet hair out of his face, cursing himself for not thinking to get it cut or tie it back. Generally he didn’t have to roll around in battle, though.

He aimed at (what he hoped in the limited light) was right for the wand arm, or a the very least, the chest and set off a stinging charm quickly followed by a second disarm. He could gloat later. Make sure he didn’t die first, then he could be mocking.

Death Eaters tended to be very rigid, relying on the darker curses, so chances are being fast, agile and thinking on his feet was the best way to play capture. If things got too bad, there was always a disintegration curse, though he’d never used it on a living person and he wished he didn’t feel quite so conflicted about the concept of doing so.

Unable to tumble out of the way fast enough, the sting connected with the Death Eater's arm, who then releasing his wand with a jolt, despite avoiding the actual disarming spell. His other hand immediately moved rub some of the sting out of the spot, rubbing rapid and brief before grabbing his wand again. When again he looked to Sirius, it was as though the masked menace's entire body was glowering.

Keeping his head facing forward (and his line of sight subtly tipped up over Sirius's head), the Death Eater shot out a pointed _Reducto_ curse, exploding the tree into a raining cloud of vision-impairing dust, watching for where Sirius would dodge before following up with an aimed stinging charm to his opponent's own wand arm...

While Sirius himself often preferred muddying the air with blasting curses, he was a little surprised to have his own favoured method thrown back at him. He hit the ground with a flood, suddenly both annoyed by the snow soaking through his clothes and feeling glad he wasn’t hitting solid dirt. He coughed a few times, retching slightly in the dry, cold air and a small bundle of rage began to tighten in his stomach. While he didn’t expect to play fair, using his own favoured tactics seemed like a complete and utter breach of what he considered his.

A thought hit the periphery of his mind: was it someone who _knew_ that?

The problem with having multiple Death Eaters (suspected, so good enough for him) in your year and the surrounding ones meant that you had to experience fighting people who knew you, who had watched you learn to duel since you were a child, had gone to Hogwarts dueling clubs with you and unfortunately, knew your weaknesses. He couldn’t get an accurate look from the cloak, but he couldn’t rule it out. It didn’t make any difference anyway; he’d left those idiots behind a long time ago.

He considered the sub-zero temperatures for a moment, before rolling onto broken twigs on one knee and cursing every tree he could think of mentally. “ _Aguamenti_!” He snarled, sending the jet of freezing cold water back at his opponent and trying not to let his irritation at giving him enough time to grab the wand show. It should be a good distraction, while he tried to move out of the way of the debris.

Instinctively the Death Eater curled his arms up to protect his masked face, twisting away as an immediate and jarring chill shot out from his shoulder to his hooded head and down the side of his body in a soaking splash. The freezing air turned what might normally be an annoyance into a limb-aching hindrance, and when he whipped back around, his chattering jaw was steadied in a clench beneath the mask.

Shooting a severing spell at yet another tree, angling it to fall between Sirius and himself, the Death Eater followed up with a swift Impediment Curse to knock him back, trip him, slow him down for a retreat on the way back to the trees, and within seconds of clamoring to his feet, Sirius went straight back down again with an extremely loud expletive. Sirius glanced ahead, a perpetual string of _shitshitshit_ echoing throug his mind as the distance became further between them.

Clearly, he didn’t want to stay and fight.

_Tough._

He felt around for his wand, barely able to feel it against his numbed fingers let alone grasp it properly and bit down as he pushed himself up in the freezing cold. He’d pay for this later, most likely, and that thought alone was enough to keep fueling his adrenaline and give him a little more fire than he needed. With the Death Eater’s back turned, he couldn’t think of anything more perfect to actually do than fire. Unexpected. Non-lethal providing it was put out quickly, but it should scare the shit out of them enough to give him a little more time. He aimed squarely at his back, but given the running, there was no telling where it’d really hit.

However, between an escaped asshole and a dead one, there wasn’t really much more of choice to be made. _Incendio._ He cast wordlessly.

The flaming spell struck the back of the Death Eater’s right shoulder as searing heat defied the drier-but-still-damp material of his previously protected wand-side. A soft but pained cry escaped as he skidded to another stop, this time purposefully landing on his back to smother the fire in dirtied snow, his entire body seeming to stiffen against the fall.

The second he went down, Sirius was on his feet, feebly grasping his wand and trying to avoid smashing headfirst into anything or falling over. If he could just hold his nerve long enough not to get killed, do some damage and not get thrown out of the Order or screamed at by Moody for not being able to handle a retreating Death Eater, then everything would be fine. In fact, his mind was so focussed on this that he didn’t see the ropes of a follow up _Incarcerous_ spell until they hit the bottom of his legs, where he quickly cast a severing charm straight through. It didn’t stop him falling with a frustrated “Umph!” though.

“Do you have something against my face because you seem _obsessed_ with attempting to make me fall on it!”

Alright, it’s probably not a good idea to engage a Death Eater in conversation, but he was pissed and _sopping_ and he’d just cut into his _socks_ of all damn things because he wasn’t careful because he was _falling over_. This was getting ridiculous. He stopped, taking a few more cold and rough breaths before moving again. This stalemate wasn’t going to work. This had to be ended.

 _Colloshoo!_ He cast, deciding not to go for something that’d hurt and focus on _stopping_ him by sticking his feet to the floor. He wasn’t really sure how that worked with snow, but he had to try.

 

* * *

 

Regulus couldn't even snap back some sarcastic retort about his brother's face before his feet were suddenly stuck to the wet, grassy patch they had uncovered in his sliding stop. Once again the panic rose in his throat as he tried to scramble forward, remembering how to use his limbs again but finding that not even a slick surface was allowing his feet to slip free. Whether this was pinning down the target before a final blow or whether it was a decisive capture tactic, he didn't know, but even as Regulus shot an _Expelliarmus_ backward at Sirius, he knew the situation was increasingly futile.

Sirius’ wand went flying from his hand and in response, he slumped his shoulders. Unfortunately, it hadn’t gone far and he trenched his way over to get it quickly. He picked it up with obviously numb fingers.

“Cast again, and you’re dead,” He said cheerfully.

The threat was sufficient to banish any further thoughts of resistance -- 'cheerful' as the tone might have been, Regulus couldn't help but think Sirius might really do it without bothering to see who was beneath the mask. Would it be better that way? The thought was depressing and more than a little terrifying, so in some arguably fruitless attempt to regain some dignity, he turned to his front again, tucking his arms into his still-soaked robes and staring stonily ahead. His shoulder burn hurt, his limbs were so cold he could swear they were going to snap off, and his heartbeat was hammering relentlessly. Clenching his eyes closed, Regulus hoped for some other Death Eater to miraculously run this way in a retreat, but they weren't even along the main path anymore.

He felt despairing nerves start to creep up, but with all the stubborn pride he could muster, Regulus kept the emotion firmly in check. No matter what happened, it wasn’t going to be good, but he couldn’t crack.

“I’d say we have two choices here,” Sirius said conversationally, as if there wasn’t a battle back there. “I can blow your head off and go back and help my friends or you can lose the mask. Which do you prefer?”

Twisting his arms more tightly against his chest to try and control his shivering, Regulus's eyes remained shut beneath the mask. His own jaw was still clenched to keep from chattering, but even if it weren't, he didn't know what to do or say. He didn't want to get his head blown off, knew he shouldn't trust that Sirius was just bluffing, but the thought of unmasking himself felt unbearable too. This part of his life was a well-protected secret from the outside world, and to reveal it to Sirius of all people scraped raw all the wounds that brought them here in the first place.

Bella would be furious if she found out he purposefully revealed his identity, and to the blood traitor, at that-

But Regulus would not grovel, he would not beg, and he could not be certain the draw of his wand would be quicker than his brother's. Even if he landed a spell, he would have to cast the counter-curse on his feet to get anywhere fast, and how much time could a spell really buy him? He would not plead for a merciful and consequence-free release that Sirius would _never_ give to a random Death Eater; pride would not allow it.

He was caught in a trap, but he could not show weakness.

After sticking his wand safely in his robes, Regulus reached to remove his mask with both hands, movements slow but purposeful as he set the skull-like mask next to him in the snow. Its bone-white coloring almost blended in, though the fine, subtle, flame-like carvings creeping up the side of the mask struck a thematic contrast to the snow around. A chilly gust of wind hit his face, exposed as it now was, but with a self-motivating purse of his lips, Regulus opened his eyes and twisted around to look his brother full in the face, grey eyes clashing with grey. His expression was stony, resolved in a well-practiced neutrality, but his eyes were blazing with a tangle of emotions that even Regulus had difficulty pulling apart: Fear, anger, hurt, frustration, determination, all wrapped up in the suffocating press of uncertainty.

Two and a half years had passed since they had split off into their respective destinies. Two and a half years separated them from a reality that felt like a lifetime ago, and in that singular moment, Regulus had nothing and no one to hide behind.

 

* * *

 

 

“Regulus?”

The word escaped unbidden, humiliatingly frightened at the idea of it.

Sirius stood against the stark backdrop and tried to find his voice, but his brother’s name was the only thing that had come out and somehow, it had managed to encapsulate every question he had. _Tell me it isn’t you. Tell me this is polyjuice. You are too good a person to ever be taken in by this._ Memories of discussions, talks about the Dark Lord flooded back into his mind from memory before he could stop them. He had been agreeable to it, but then Regulus was an agreeable person, that was what had set him apart. Sirius was anything but agreeable.

But he wouldn’t -- he couldn’t --

Thoughts unfinished stayed swirling in his mind, suddenly worried that he had been knocked unconscious and this was some sort of concussion dream. He was just a stupid kid, after all, how would he ever have gotten the better of a Death Eater? It can’t have been real.

Yet he just continued to stare, standing frozen with every last turbulent emotion playing through his face as he tried to find some way to rationalise this. He took an unsteady step forward, willing it to be a trick of the moonlight and that his younger brother was tucked up in bed, with a feeling of self-satisfaction about the latest homework assignment. He wasn’t standing next to his - _his_ \- mask in the snow.

Regulus, in turn, did not hold the gaze long before his eyes dropped, the low-pulled hood shadowing his face even more in the already dim light of the stars and moon. Once again his arms were folded up against his chest, stiffened fingers hooking and clapping onto his elbows, and despite his subtle shivers, seemed to be making some effort to remain completely still, as if Sirius (like some wild animal) might lose interest in an unresponsive target.

With shock wavering over him, the silence between them hung heavily. Sirius could hear distant sounds in the background, but the fight seemed to completely far away right now. Trying to shake himself from his reverie, he took a couple more steps over. With anyone else, he’d have worried about his own vulnerability but this was different now. He wasn’t really afraid of that.  

He reached over to put his hand on his younger brothers’ jaw to push it up, or that’s what he supposed he was about to do when suddenly the same anger came back full force and with little warning. Suddenly, Sirius struck him across the face with an impassioned, “IDIOT!” He struggled to catch his breath in the icy weather. “What are you _doing_? You’re a student, you should be _studying_ , not planning mass murder with a bunch of sycophantic morons or getting into fight with--” He stopped, about to say vigilantes but it was him. Getting into fights with _them_. A fight that had caused all of this, a fight that --

A fight he had considered ending with a blasting curse to the throat. The linking of the two images intersected, and he dry heaved, coughing and taking a step back.

 _Shit_.

 

* * *

 

Regulus sucked in a sharp breath as Sirius's hand connected with his face in an alarming _crack_ of skin to skin. Clenching his eyes shut, still stony and silent, he let Sirius ride out the short-lived rant until the older boy fell silent -- a silence that was broken again, not by words, but a heaving cough.

Resisting the urge to rub the now angrily red mark on his face, Regulus tried to lift his foot again, and was met with the same resistance. He felt sick, soppily frozen to the bone, miserable -- he ached all over, and he didn't want to have this conversation ever, much less right now. Could one apparate away with stuck feet? Was the _no more spells_ demand still in place, or could he test standard counter-curses?

As it was, Sirius did not seem stable enough for any extended focus on his feet.

"Is that question meant to be rhetorical?" Regulus said quietly after a stretching moment without looking up, grabbing onto that familiar dryness in an attempt to seize some semblance of control, to let it somehow seep inside to calm the turmoil pulsing in his mind.

Sirius looked back at him, pushing his grime covered hair off to one side with trembling hands.

He then bent down and picked up the mask, looking at it distantly. “I almost killed you,” He said, numbly. “Because of this?”

He looked up, holding the mask with the cut and bruised hands he had fallen repeatedly on. He gave a bark of laughter.  “And all you have to say to me is to ask if I’m being rhetorical. You almost died! “ His voice took on a hard, sarcastic edge. “You came this close to destroying the house of your _fathers_ tonight and you ask me about fucking _rhetoric_?!”

"That's rich, coming from _you_ ," Regulus spat back, finding a little spark to fan as those conflicting emotions started to bubble up. Grappling the surge of confidence, he repeated to himself: _Everything is going to be fine_. Fear was pressed down as a familiar cavern of loss opened up and filled with cold anger, biting and defensive and trapped as it swelled up. "As if _you_ care about blood or legacy. You certainly didn't care when you ran out on us, so you have _no right_ to _lecture me_ about what is or isn't right for _my_ family. You don't care about us, you don't care what _happens_ to us, so you can get off your self-righteous high horse and stop _pretending_ like you do."

“I don’t care about _any_ of that!” Sirius yelled back at him. “DON’T TELL ME WHAT I FEEL!” He took a step back, then again and again putting a few paces between them. “You’re my little brother.” He sighed, and searched his face. “And you’ve signed yourself up for death - or _worse!_! Excuse me if I’m not taking that so well, Regulus, it’s my brother in question, you don’t get tell me how _I_ feel about losing him again.”

Regulus was struck silent, the anger tumbling from his lips suddenly plugged with that horrible stab of uncertainty: Words he desperately wanted to hear...and desperately didn't want to hear, all at once. What good were empty words? Sirius had proven his insincerity when he walked out, had left them far behind. Had left _Regulus_ far behind, without a single look back. It didn't matter what he wanted to hear because, however pretty it sounded, he couldn't open himself to Sirius again without losing his family, losing his legacy, losing his entire life in possibly more ways than one, and unlike his brother, that prospect _actually_ bothered him. He was the heir now, and there was no back up plan left; even if there were, how could he ever turn on them like that?

He was not a traitor, not like Sirius. He would never turn his back on them.

"I'm not going to die," Regulus responded, his voice cool and quiet again as he tried to rub warmth into his shivering arms. "Assuming I don't _freeze to death_ here in the snow, of course. I was holding my own just fine."

“You got caught with the same prank I used to pull on our fifth year Defense teacher,” Sirius said, snorting derisively. “You’re not _fine_. Don’t you understand?” Sirius said, letting the air hang for a moment. “The hitwizards will be here soon, you won’t be the only person they’ve stopped tonight and I’m....I’m not giving you the counter-curse.” His shoulders slumped, and he shook his head as if it would change what was in front of him.

“My brother is a good student, a good person, he’s not a monster in a _fucking mask_.” He wrapped his arms around himself, and tried to pull himself together with absolutely no success. He stared right at Regulus, looking him up and down imploring. “Who _are_ you?”

The betrayal flashed bright in Regulus's eyes as he looked up at Sirius, meeting his gaze with a chilly intensity. "Maybe you would know if you hadn't selfishly turned your back on me, but _obviously_ that's something of a habit. I don't need any help from you -- I haven't for a long time -- so if you are planning to leave me to rot anyway, then _go_." The coldness whittled away at each bit of warmth, his chin chattering any time he attempted to relax his face, but he would rather be standing there freezing than standing there freezing with Sirius calling him a _monster_.

He was not a _monster_.

"You don't understand a thing, Sirius. You _never_ understand, and you never will, so just leave me alone," Regulus added, the tone slightly less biting but no less chilly.

 

* * *

 

 

The only noise for a few seconds was the wind in the trees and the faint sounds of people.

It was a suckerpunch to the stomach, leaving imprints in a still open wound. Sirius grimaced and the mask slid through his hands, once again landing in the snow with a crunch. He swallowed hard, trying not to let the temper come back out even though he could feel it brewing in his stomach. It tasted of acid, rotten and thick. His voice was firm, angry but steady. “If I had not left, then you would not be here. You would not be doing this, because I would not have let you.”

His voice remained neutral, but his body slumped dejectedly and quietly, he took a couple more steps away before turning back to look at him. “If I didn’t care, if I didn’t consider you important, then I wouldn’t care if you lived or died,” Sirius pointed out, voice barely above a whisper and probably more than a little difficult to hear. He wasn’t good at this, this _asking_ , this _pleading_ , but the night was a bust either way. He had better say his piece. “Think about that, will you?”

He trudged on again with the decision made, before realising he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t walk away again. It had been hard enough the first time and to do it again made him feel like he was bound by the same spell. He froze, shut his eyes and thought about his brother, the control freak, the bookworm, the child pulling on his sleeves, the look of awe only an older brother knows about and he half turned around and pointed back.

He should have known he couldn’t do it. He hadn’t the stomach.

“ _Finite._ ”

 

* * *

 

When the spell was lifted, the edge in Regulus's eyes softened just slightly, clouded instead with uncertainty as it became clear that Sirius wasn't going to immediately follow the freedom with something even more restrictive.

Sirius was letting him go. No running through counter-curses, no digging out his feet.

Regulus started to turn, pausing only when he noticed his mask still laying in the snow, untouched since Sirius had dropped it there a moment ago. He knew it was testing his luck to go for it, but his luck had a much bigger opponent waiting if he tried to explain why he no longer had his mask after a skirmish with the Order of the Phoenix.

His eyes found Sirius's for a fleeting moment longer, and he thought about objecting that he wasn't the monster Sirius assumed, but it would be wasted breath. Either he thought it true and was letting Regulus go anyway, or maybe this was an acknowledgement of the possibility that Regulus wasn't completely soulless. Sometimes he felt like he understood his brother in a unique way, and sometimes he felt like he didn't understand him at all: Sirius's reasoning for his decision remained up in the air, as far as Regulus could surmise, and perhaps it shouldn't matter. Perhaps he shouldn't waste time wondering what his estranged brother thought of him or his choices...but as Regulus stood there in the snow, frozen and burned and exhausted and free to go home, he could not keep the thoughts at bay.

After bending down to retrieve his mask (he was beginning to wonder if his limbs would ever be warm and limber again), Regulus held it for a moment longer and gave his brother one last flash of a glance.

'Consider you important,’ his brother had said. 'Care about if you lived or died,’ his brother had said.

Rubbish, Regulus knew, just like Sirius's promise to ‘fix this mess’ had been a bold-faced lie, the night he ran off on them. He hated himself for how much he wanted to believe it.

Without a word, Regulus ran a thumb along the grooves of the mask and slipped it inside his robes. It was time to go home, back to his bed where he could dry off and close his eyes and pretend this was this most terrible dream. Home, where at least the complications came with expectations he could understand and predict.

With a soft _pop_ , he disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> There are ficlets being added to in this universe which further explain various aspects of it, such as the names given to the baby Death Eaters (expanded upon in '[they were kids that i once knew](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12119355/chapters/27484689)'). You'll find them [on the series page](https://archiveofourown.org/series/809115) if you're interested!
> 
> The song title is from "I'll Be Good" by Jaymes Young.


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